


Haunting My Waking Dreams

by Brynhildr



Series: 40 Days Of Middle Earth [27]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Flashbacks, Gen, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynhildr/pseuds/Brynhildr
Summary: "He gazed out of the window and saw nothing that was before him. He heard none of the laughter, saw no bright colors or smiles."





	Haunting My Waking Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I may have over tagged this, as I tend to do, but it's not too terribly violent, just depressing in the best way... enjoy!

Bilbo stared out the window of his Smial, watching butterflies and little winged insects flit around his garden on such a gorgeous sunny day. The grass was vibrant green and his garden a riot of colorful blooms. His neighbors chatted to each other as they passed on the lane, bidding reach other 'happy morn' and 'good day, Missus Proudfoot', but Bilbo heard none of it.

He gazed out of the window and saw nothing that was before him. He heard none of the laughter, saw no bright colors or smiles.

Snow. Barren blackened rocks. Blood covering his hands. Thorin, Kili, Fili with glassy eyes that gazed sightless at the cloudy sky. The stench of death, decay, and orc pushed heavily against his nostrils. His tongue coated with ash and the desolate taste of dragon fire in the air. The smell of long closed dwarven halls full of stagnation and decay. 

The flash of silver blades as men and orcs fought for their lives. The creak of a taught bowstring, the skittering brush of fingertips rustling fletching, the woosh of displaced air at the releasing of the arrow, and the sharp thunk and huff of air punched out of lungs punctured by sharp arrows. The beat of silence that followed the reverberation of a body crumpling to the ground.

The roar of dragon rage. The glittering tinking sound of golden coins cascading over themselves in the echoing treasure vaults of the great dwarven kingdom under the mountain. Thorin's last gasped breath. 

The squelching noise of a poisoned sword impaling an innocent man protecting his family. The harsh burning ache of frozen air rushing down the windpipe and into the lungs. The frantic screaming of children and the uproarious bellows of dwarves charging into battle. The war horn sounding in the deep. The silent despair of an elf witnessing the light forever extinguished from his comrade's eyes. Thorin grasping Bilbo's hand one last time.

Bilbo jerked out of his reverie with the shutting of his front door. He gripped the edge of the table with his weathered hands and took several shaky breaths while he willed his unshed tears away.

"Uncle! I've returned from the market!" Frodo called from the entrance hall. "Farmer Cotton's  old cow Bess escaped down the lane and made quite a mess earlier. But I found fresh peaches! We can have crumble tonight." 

Frodo entered Bilbo's study and halted his buoyant chatter.

"Uncle? Is something the matter?" Frodo asked as he looked around, finding the room in perfect disarray as usual.

"Oh, nothing! Nothing, my boy!" Bilbo exclaimed as he beckoned his nephew closer. "I was just looking over some old maps." He gestured to the papers strewn haphazardly across his desk. "Did I ever tell you about the time I rescued the dwarves from the dungeon of Mirkwood? Of course I have!"

"Yes, Uncle," Frodo said as he sat next to Bilbo's stool. "But tell me again."

Bilbo took a deep breath and began his tale once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading.
> 
> Today was the one year anniversary of my dance teacher's death, and this was my way of expressing my continued grief at her passing. Like Bilbo keeping the memory of Thorin alive in the retellings of his stories, so I keep her alive every time speak her words to teach others and pass down her knowledge.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
